The Hollow Beneath Hogwarts

61. Coming Clean

Ron Weasley was wearing a groove into the stone floor.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

If he paced any harder, Luna was fairly certain he would eventually tunnel his way into China.

"Ron," she said gently from where she stood beside the concealed entrance.

"What?" he snapped before immediately wincing. "Sorry."

Luna tilted her head. "You've apologised for speaking three times in the last minute."

"Have I? Sorry"

"Four now."

Ron groaned and scrubbed both hands down his face. Where the bloody hell were they?

Draco had gone down fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen. Not an hour. Not a day. Fifteen minutes. Yet somehow it felt like a lifetime.

Every second that passed tightened the knot in his stomach until he thought he might actually throw up.

His hands were shaking. His chest felt tight. His thoughts wouldn't stop. And all he could think about was alcohol.

Just one drink. One bloody drink. A bottle hidden under his bed. Something strong. Something that burned. Something that made everything quiet.

His mouth watered at the thought.

Merlin, he hated that. Hated it.

He stopped pacing and leaned against the wall. His leg immediately began bouncing. Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic.

All he wanted was to run upstairs, grab one of the bottles hidden inside his trunk, and swallow enough Firewhiskey to make this feeling disappear. Then he would be brave. Then he would be useful. Then he would know what to do.

Without it?

He was just Ron. Scared. Panicking. Waiting. Always bloody waiting.

His fingers curled into fists. Why didn't I bring one? It wasn't the first time the thought had crossed his mind. Why didn't he keep a bottle in his school bag? It would have been smart. An emergency supply. A backup plan. People carried emergency healing potions. He carried emergency alcohol.

That was normal, right?

His stomach twisted. No.It wasn't. And he knew it. That was the worst part.

He knew exactly how bad this was.

If Hermione knew? She'd probably cry.

Ginny would hex him.

Harry would look disappointed.

And somehow Harry's disappointment always felt worse than getting punched in the face.

Luna...

Ron glanced at her.

Luna would probably just look sad. That thought hurt most of all. Because Luna believed people could be fixed. She believed broken things deserved patience. And Ron wasn't sure he deserved either.

He swallowed hard.

His mind drifted backward despite himself. Back to the Burrow. Back to Fred. Always back to Fred. The memorial service had been a blur. People crying. People hugging. People pretending they were okay.

Nobody had been okay. Not really. Not even close.

Afterwards everyone had returned to the house. The wedding marquee was still standing in the garden.

It felt wrong somehow.

The same place that had hosted one of the happiest days of their lives now filled with mourners.